Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

15 September 2024

Where are we now on that bumpy road less travelled? Where are we this week on Artell's artistic spectrum between panic and complacency? Is there only panic and complacency, are we a mug or are we smug, who'll be the next to pull the rug from under us? Do you remember ever dancing in September? Well at least it isn't a cloudy day. The weather here has been as nice as it can be, although it doesn't really matter much to me: I brought me brolly just in case.

Town lined up in what one may have to concede is more likely to be a 4-1-4-1 formation as follows: Eastwood, Warren, Rodgers, McJannet, Hume, McEachran, Svanthorsson, Khouri, Green, Vernam and Rose. The substitutes were Wright, Cass, Carson, Ainley, Barrington, Gardner and Wilson. I hope you didn't bet on the Duck Farm being back, he's still on the permanent 'if' list, our wish list of positive possibilities. If. We're hanging on an if. If only, if only things were not as they are. If is a hope, if is a wish, if is on the condition or supposition and we've just dropped in to see what condition our condition is in.

Barrowboys? Let's roll over Barrow, we'll have a barrel of fun, let's do as we normally do and get the blues on the run. Ah, there they are, trundling about in front of their 127 supporters in the traditional black and yellow beekeeper's outfit. Obviously they can't play in blue, that'd clash with black and white. It's obvious, obviously. They do look awfully sturdy.

OK, can you tell the sheep from the goats? Watch out Bluetongue virus has extended into Lincolnshire! OK, forget the ruminants, let's ruminate.

1st half – Event horizon
Barrow kicked off towards Pontoon.

And there we have it. That's it, that's all there is to it.

Big Barrow linebackers blocking off the running Rose, waiting for their quarter-back to foul chuck. Now are Barrow using the cold press or cold extraction method of crushing our grapes and hopes?

The cold press is the traditional system used since ancient times whereby our little olives were crushed to form a paste, pressed to separate the solid part from the oily waste, and pressure then applied in order to extract what life was left inside. It's a simple cycle of grinding and pressing.

Cold extraction is not carried out through a press itself, but thanks to the centrifugal force applied on the mass obtained after grinding. The cycle is crush, beat, spin and decant.

Town tapping, Bluebirds snapping, Khouri pruned by a passing combine harvester and McEachran thrashed by a thresher. We're watching a black and white hole implode, but are we at the point beyond which events cannot affect an observer?

C'mon let's groan together in perfect harmony. Over, under, sideways, down, backwards, forwards, square, and round and round and round again as all those bumpy roads lead to the Denver boot. Gorgeous George crushed and beaten as he spun, the ball decanted to Garner who fluffy-cushioned a piddle.

Look around, round, round, round, round, round, round, round, round, look around. Is there anybody out there?Warren skinned, Foley flattened and dragged off for treatment. The free kick flickered through the crowded house for a beeboy corner. As Jackson awaited to in-coil Foley, the fallen angel, ran on straight into middle of the penalty area, straight past the Wolds Panther and straight onto the dipping whipper to nod into the centre of the goal with Eastwood blocked.

I've told you it straight, there's nothing subtle here, no grand design or great deception, just a ball curled into the middle and a bloke running in unmolested.

Round, round, round, round, round, round, round, round, round, look around, round and round and round and round. Dear Grimsby, won't you come out to play.

Barrowboys gambolling and Action Jackson gained some traction baiting the Wolds Panter, swinging infield and buffling from afar. Eastwood scruffily patted aside from his nearer post and Garner slip slided into the side netting, head-dodging the returning ball from an irate Pontoonite.

And I do believe that in the 23rd minute Grimsby Town had a shot. I truly believe that. Whether it is right or wrong is of no importance, for it's important to believe in something. I believe a big red ship sailed by. What's the difference between a ship and a boat? One is designed for inland and coastal waters, the other sails the oceans blue. It's about vision and ambition and how draughty you are. Town have a very shallow draught, yet are very draughty in defence.

A punt and chunter over the top. Eastwood dithered as the ball dropped then made a decisive decision to clatter all those who stood in his way. That'd be Wee Janet, just as he nodded back to where jolting Jake was no more. A corner out left with McJannet led off for the statutory half minute of standing around waving at the ref. Vassell, the man who would be marked, walked into the near post and nodded in from four yards out as a battalion of stripes stood around wondering who was supposed to be marking him. Wee Janet. The man who wasn't there.

Grimsby Town, the team which wasn't there.

Green runs here and there and a slap-crossy-shot thing that ruffled no feathers. A Warren shot deflected by Rose straight to Stanway, the sting taken from the ping by white shins. Twenty minutes of what can only be considered time, as we sit here watching 11 men waiting for someone or something to show them the way as their plans come to naught and the crowd's becoming fraught as Town sit on this two-goal cushion.

Three minutes were added and with Town ten seconds from a boo, McJannet's long ping arrived on Dadi's toes. Svanthorsson jinked left, spun right, craftily caressed a cross and Green arrived alone, naturally, to leapy nod into the right side of the net.

From riled to roused, from condemnation to redemption, it took one little tickle and we fickle fans were back in the room again.

What was that? An utterly atrocious display from a bunch of one-note show ponies, befuddled and bullied by a bog standard fourth tier team. Hard work gets you a long way down here. Slack work takes you a long way towards Wealdstone.

2nd half – Half a sixpence
Neither team made any changes at half time.

The pace picked up, with a bit of pep in the striped shoes and Barrow slowly crumbled. It does appear that they don't like it up 'em either. Who knew! All we had to do was actually move. Khouri intercepted an errant prod and drove on up the left, exchanging passes with Vernam and scraping across the face of goal. A plaintiff cry emerged from the Pontoon "Attack the near post Mr Green". And so, for only the second time this century a Grimsby Town player attacked the near post. Green swiped, Stanway batted back, the ball plopped up and Rose scrimpled into the emptied net. Sit down you're rocking the boat. There's a flag fluttering on the beach, it's not safe to bathe in the warm waters of happiness here.

Town are at least mumbling now, no longer silently sitting in the corner waiting for the custard pie. A cross, a graze, a gaze across. A corner shortened as Vernam espied sleeping Barrowboys. Hume danced around dainty feet and mis-scruffled against the outside of the near post. And at that Popov popped off the pitch and on plopped Kouyate who was satisfyingly useless. It is possible he has never played football before, so perhaps we should give him some slack.

Town: breaks, crosses, all intercepted at the near post or sailing straight in to the keeper's hands. Barrow, breaks, crosses, all intercepted at the near post or sailing in the hands of some small children sat in the Osmond.

Apart from that time they didn't. A Barrow chuck-in deep down by their left corner flag, McEachran and Rodgers feyly flinched and off the Bluebeards inched upfield and infield. Newby hared off and Hume kept a respectful distance, not wishing to invade his personal space. Newby slapped, Eastwood slapped back and Newby steered around the prostrate keeper towards the empty net. Ah-ha, not so fast Herr Newby, as if by magic Bunny Warren appeared to hop up to head off the line.

With about 20 or so minutes left Rose bounced off and Minivan Wilson bounded on, all eager like. Wilson was Wilson. If you don't know him by now you'll never, never, never know him. We've all got a funny moods.

Time goes by when you're the driver of the 16:24 to Lime Street. Noise, movement, crosses, nothing.

Carson, Ainley and Barrington replaced Hume, Vernam and Svanthorsson. Ainley. Apart from that pass he did against Swindon last April, what has he ever done for Town? It's nice that we have been so loyal and supportive but there does need to be a point to all this.

Carson dinked and the ball brushed off Canavan's bouncing bouffant as a stripe was behind. Yellow legs stretched and strained diverting the occasional cross and pass as infiltrations did not lead to excitations.

With a couple of minutes left Gardner replaced Khouri. Is there a formation? Did he touch the ball? Was there a purpose or point to this other than throwing on a striker and seeing what happens? Points make prizes, we need to see a point.

Four minutes were added as Barrowboys were suddenly afflicted by the tortures of the damned. Of course they were, it's the way of things. Carson reminded the ref that an ailing Beeboy had to go off for 30 seconds, Barrington dribbled into the penalty area. Nothing happened as a result.

Carson careered across the face of the area refusing all calls for his right foot to be used. A spin and chip with Canavan back-heading, Stanway back-peddled, arched backwards and finger flicked from under the bar. Eastwood arrived for this one last heave and everyone and his dog ran to the near post as the corner dripped to the far post. What a waste of time.

For Town it's still a game of ifs and buts. If a man could be in two places at one time, Cameron McJannet would have been with you, Theo Vassell; if we fans can wait but not be tired by waiting; if Artell can dream but not make dreams his master; if the players can think but not make thoughts their aim; if the board can bear to hear the truth we're speaking but not be twisted by knaves and twittering fools, then we may rise again.

But first they do need to stop simpering and whimpering and just get stuck in.